Jiro Dreams of Sushi

This post marks a new step, the first time I will be looking at a Japanese movie that is currently screening in cinemas, rather than just watching a DVD like I usually do. Hopefully there will be many, many more of these in the future, but it all comes down to what receives a local release. The film is a documentary, Jiro Dreams of Sushi directed by David Gelb, and is currently screening at Cinema Nova in Carlton.

Jiro is an eighty-five year old sushi chef who has dedicated his entire life to his career, making sushi. Operating a tiny ten seater sushi restaurant in a subway underpass, the sushi he creates is world renowned and has earned his restaurant three Michelin stars; the only sushi restaurant in the world to achieve this. The film features extensive interviews with Jiro and his sons as they explain their craft and personal philosophies toward life and most importantly, work. We learn of Jiro’s largely fatherless childhood and how it influenced his work ethic and subsequent upbringing of his own sons, seeing many bittersweet similarities in this decidedly old school and very Japanese approach to life and work. Upon opening his own branch of sushi restaurant, Takashi, Jiro’s youngest son, was told the words his own father had heard many years before, “Should you fail, you have no home to come back to” a harsh yet somewhat rousing push into the real world, Jiro speaks of his own thoughts of the Japanese youth, (most likely the current wave of ambivalent part timers) who want fewer work hours and more free time. Yet the workers we see in the film remain so firmly committed to their work that it is almost scary, apprentices are subjected to rigorous training the likes of which many of us may never experience. One of Jiro’s employees recalls crying the day he finally mastered making egg sushi, after several months of failure. While Jiro’s eldest son Yoshikazu recalls an apprentice who hardly lasted a day.

Even Jiro’s suppliers are on a higher level, acquiring and providing the finest fish and rice with a great loyalty and respect to their friend and his incredibly high standards. The film’s excursions to the Tsukiji fish market work very well in terms of breaking up the film and getting us out of Jiro’s tiny restaurant, showing us yet another microcosmic community’s characters and inner workings. In one such scene, Yoshikazu, buying fish on behalf of his father, casually asks a fishmonger how he has been. The small, elderly man replies “Not good. I want to retire.” Yoshikazu does well to hide his possible surprise at such an honest response, quickly making his exit, yet it really fascinated with me. Like a Yasujiro Ozu film come to life, this man’s simply stated response becomes a quiet confession filled with layers of truth and emotion, only to be flippantly brushed off. A similar moment takes place in a scene where Jiro and Yoshikzu visit the grave of Jiro’s parents. After observing the dead flowers near the headstone, Jiro remarks, painfully casually “I don’t know why I come here. My parents didn’t look after me”. Is this what created such a consuming work ethic in this man? In contrast to the aforementioned fishmonger, Jiro speaks of not being ready to retire and, despite his often cold disposition of absolute professionalism, explains that everyday, making sushi, he feels ecstatic and is completely in love with his job. Jiro admits were he to retire he would be driven insane with boredom. The film makes it clear that his work really is his reason for living.

Towards the beginning of the film, one of the employees explains that the techniques that the chefs are using are “no big secret”, and we hear about many of these in fascinating detail, including the differences of depth in flavour in tuna and also the forty-five minute massage an octopus receives before being served. All of this is wrapped up neatly in a film that runs under an hour and a half and never feels long-winded. Many sections of interviews and conversations are juxtaposed with beautfiul slow motion sequences of the sushi’s creation, likened metaphorically to a musical symphony with its different movements. It is often said that the mark of a good documentary is one that can be entertaining and accessible to people who may have no interest in the actual subject. Jiro Dreams of Sushi is one such documentary. Even though I am not the world’s biggest sushi fan and will probably never eat in Jiro’s restaurant (bookings a month in advance are essential and prices start at $300) the film provides not only a fascinating insight into Jiro and his restaurant, but the network around it and a uniquely Japanese approach to one’s career.